


Beware the White Witch

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While escaping THRUSH, Napoleon and Illya stumble over the ruins of an old structure.  They think it is empty.  They think wrong.</p><p>Written as part of the 2013 MFU Halloween Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beware the White Witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eilidhsd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eilidhsd).



They had been running for so long that they were well beyond speech.  They tore through the forest, letting branches, bramble and bushes slap and catch at their clothes as they passed.

Finally, Napoleon slowed and hunched over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.  Both UNCLE agents were in good shape, but it didn’t matter at the moment.  Breathing was more important.

“When….”  Illya gasped as he caught up with Napoleon.  “When did…”  He gasped again, his chest heaving, his face wet with perspiration.  “When did THRUSH stop…?”  He gave up and dropped to the ground and stared up at the late afternoon sky.

“No idea.”  His breathing was no longer labored and Napoleon straightened and swallowed, noticing their surroundings for the first time.  “Where are we?”

Illya sat up and glanced around.  “In the forest.”

“Brilliant.  Now I know why I hang out with you.”  Napoleon’s tone was dry.  In the last three days, they’d been interrogated, kicked around, sleep deprived, and starved.  That was almost the kid glove approach from where Napoleon was standing.  “Why do I have the feeling THRUSH was just waiting for us to escape?”

“Past track record.”  Illya was on his feet now, trying to get his bearings.  “When we came out, we headed south, and so these must be the…uh… Blackwood Forest.”

“That’s very helpful.”

“It will be when you call in our position.”  Illya pulled the THRUSH equivalent of their communicator from his pants pocket.

Napoleon grinned past his three-day old whiskers.  “Did I tell you how much I appreciate your being my partner?”

Illya smiled, reset the frequency and passed the instrument over.    While Napoleon talked with HQ, he studied their surroundings.  He didn’t have any weapons, so shooting something wasn’t an option and with his head pounding with tension and lack of sleep, patience wasn’t something he had a lot of either.

He closed his eyes and listened.  Amid the whispering rush of the trees, he heard the rumble of a river.  A quick search of a hidden pocket revealed some matches, a safety pin, two aspirin, a single blade jack knife, and a month’s supply of pocket lint.

Napoleon shut down the instrument and sighed.  “Well, it’s going to be morning before they can get anyone here, Illya…”  Napoleon glanced around and fear clutched his gut.  “Illya?” he shouted.

“Here!” The voice was faint and Napoleon moved in its direction.  He stopped in front of a river and smiled.  Illya had fashioned a fishing pole out of a long branch and his shoe laces.

“Fish okay for tonight?”

“I don’t know.  I had fish last night.”

“Liar”

“Well, in my dreams.”

“Why don’t you scout us out a spot for tonight?”  Illya knew UNCLE’s instructions would be to sit tight if possible.

“Got it.”

                                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon has just about settled upon an outcropping of builders when he spotted the skeleton of a structure.  Frowning, he made his way to a crumbling wall.   Spotting a doorway, he climbed up the slight embankment and entered through it.  It looked into what had must have been the main room.  Looking through the door, Napoleon could see that one wall still stood and could provide them shelter from the night air.  In one corner were the remains of a fireplace, but what pulled Napoleon’s attention was a second door.

 

There were stone steps leading up to it and it had been gated.  He climbed them and studied a weather worn sign, its words nearly obliterated, until he realized they were written in a foreign language he didn’t read.  Oh well, Illya could probably figure it out if he was of a mind.  The gate wasn’t a problem as it hung loose from rusted hinges.  Beyond it he could see a nearly overgrown hole.  The smashed remains of a bucket told him it had probably been a well.  Without thinking, Napoleon reached up and settled a hand on the top of the gate.  He was cut before he realized it and he glared at the rusted metal.

Swearing, he squeezed the finger, letting the blood trickle out and down his hand.  Then he flicked his hand, shaking as much blood off as he could before wiping the cut on his trousers.  In the giant scheme of things, a nicked finger wasn’t much, but the burning pain from it seemed to encourage everything else Napoleon had sore at the moment to ache along with it. 

Shrugging, Napoleon walked over to it, then paused as a cold chill snaked down his back.  He turned away from the gate and studied the woods, wishing for the hundredth time that he had his weapon. Instead he reached down and picked up a branch. “Hello?”

There was not a whisper of sound, even though he could see leaves shifting uneasily.  After a moment, he turned his attention to the fireplace, using the end of the branch to scrape detritus out of the firebox.  He knelt and reach in to drag the material out.  It would have been easier without a cut finger.

It didn’t matter.  He pushed the pain aside and continued to scrape clean the firebox.  Then he added some tinder and small twigs.  There was a good scattering of branches in and around the cottage’s old foundation.

He had just reaching for a branch when a hand settled on his shoulder.  With a cry, he pulled away and spun, fist up in defense.

Illya was standing there, holding a collection of fish, his other raised in surrender.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.  Didn’t you hear me calling?”

“No… No, I didn’t.” Napoleon took a deep breath and waited for his heart to kick start.  “I was getting things ready.”  And he shivered again and winced.  His finger was killing him.

“What happened?”

“It’s just a cut.  Be careful if you poke around that gate.”  Napoleon nodded to the elevated doorway.  “That thing’s lethal.”

                                                                                ****

Napoleon wiped his fingers on some leaves and sighed.  “That was the best meal I’ve had in a week.”

Illya smiled and ducked his head.  “Thanks, but THRUSH only had us for three days.”

“A week.”  Night was starting to creep in and Napoleon moved a bit closer to the fire.  It’s wasn’t a large one as they didn’t dare risk it.  THRUSH would be looking for them.  It was best not to give them any help.  Napoleon frowned at the feel of Illya’s hand against his forehead.  “What are you doing?”

“Just checking.  You’ve been acting cold all night.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, it’s rather warm.”

“If you have ice water for blood.”  Napoleon looked back at the fire and fought to keep from shivering.  “I suppose we should douse that.”

“It would be best but perhaps we can let it burn for a bit longer.”   Illya was studying his partner.  “We should try and get some sleep.  I will take the first watch.”

Napoleon nodded, repressed a yawn and stretched out on the pile of leaves.  “It isn’t the Ritz, but I have a feeling I’ll not know the difference tonight.”  Within a few minutes, Napoleon was asleep.

Illya propped his back up against the wall and blinked furiously.  Then he stood and walked the parameter of the interior, pausing before the gate.  Frowning he struggled to make out the words.  “Be… beware… the white…”   _Oh well,_ he thought.  _It doesn’t matter._

Napoleon moaned in his sleep and Illya abandoned the gate to kneel by his partner’s side.  Napoleon’s face was beaded with perspiration and his skin was clammy.  All they needed now was for one of them to get sick from something. 

Illya turned to stoke the fire and then looked back.  Napoleon was on his feet, swaying.

“Napoleon?”  Illya started to take a step towards his partner and grunted.  It was as if he was glued to the spot.  The more he fought, the less he could move.  Then he saw the figure gliding towards them from beyond the gate.  “Napoleon,” he tried again, but his partner was unresponsive.

The figure shushed him and swirled around and Illya gasped from the cold.  “Shh, he is dead to you now.”

“What?”  Illya barely managed to get the word past his chattering teeth.

“He has called and I have come.  He is mine now.”  A face suddenly appeared in front of his and Illya moaned at the sight.  Long past life, too long dead, the specter grinned.  “I am taking him.”

Napoleon lurched forward a step as if fighting the movement with all his might.  In the firelight, Napoleon’s face was suddenly visible.  His mouth moved in a grimace of pain and tears trickled down his cheeks.  The anguish ripped at Illya’s heart, but the more he struggled… he suddenly relaxed, letting lassitude weigh down his limbs, as if a man surrendered to his fate.

With a laugh the figure abandoned him and flew to Napoleon.  Napoleon cried out in pain and that was all Illya needed.

Summoning every bit of strength and energy that he had left, he flung himself at Napoleon.  The sheer force of the tackle, knocked Napoleon backwards out of the main door and Illya followed.

The figure shrieked and wailed as Illya dragged Napoleon into the forest.  He collapsed upon Napoleon and panted.

“Um… I… uh, am all in favor of the togetherness of partners, but I think you’re carrying this a bit to the extreme, Illya.”

Illya jumped at the calmness of Napoleon’s voice and pushed himself up and away.  Fearful, he looked back at the structure and winced at a bit of morning sun caught his eye.  “What?  It’s daybreak?  But we…”  He glanced quickly back to his partner and then returned to the tumbled-down walls.  “What happened, Napoleon?”

“Not a clue.  I went to sleep in there and woke up out here with you on top of me.  Feeling a bit lonely?” Napoleon’s smile was teasing. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

There was a noise and Illya dropped to the ground.  Three men walked cautiously out into the clearing around the cottage.  After a moment, Napoleon laughed and stood up, brushing leaves from his pants.

“Dillard, we’re here.”

“Thank God, I didn’t think we’ve ever find you, especially being this close to the White Witch’s house.”

“That’s what the last word was,” Illya muttered, brushing his hair back.  “I tried reading it last night.”

“You were inside?”  The man’s voice was awestruck.

“For a while, until Illya decided it was better sleeping out here.  Why?”

“It’s said that the woman who lived here made a pact with Satan.  In exchange for power, she would lured men to their death.  There’s a well around back.  She’d slit their throats and tip them down the well where the devil was waiting for them.”

“Nice,” Illya muttered.  “Reminds me of your last date with Angelique.”

“Funny guy.

“You two would have been okay, though.  The only way you can fall her forth is with blood.”

Napoleon stuffed his injured hand into his pocket, smiled wanly at Illya.  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

 


End file.
